A Change of Heart
by Secretly Immortal
Summary: None know what can come of a change of heart, only to acknowledge the power of such an occurrence. One such change of heart, and for the better, can lead to the worst possible consequences. And a turn for the worst can pave the way for the best of changes...
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own Once. I wish I did, AND SEASON TWO'S COMING OUT ON DVD TOMORROW BITCHES! *momentarily dies from excitement* ALSO, please forgive mistakes… I'm a lazy, lazy, lazy bitch sometimes. Productiveness wore off after I finished this first draft.**

* * *

Evil is not born. It's impossible for a soul to be born blackened with the hatred of the world, the weight of life's hardships. No, one cannot simply start out being evil. One is driven to it, one is shaped and formed by the world around them. And the world has a way of chewing up people and spitting them out in a bloody, grotesque mess of malevolence and spite. The world has a way of creating evil beings, and people hardly ever find fault in encouraging it – whether or not that be indirect is purely up to chance and moral obligation (the first of which is hardly kinder than the world, the second of which deteriorates and twists further each day).

Never mind that 'evil' and 'good' are two sides of the same coin. Is a crime committed for the right reason, wrong? Is justice served for the wrong reason, right? What constitutes as evil and what separates it from that which is considered good? Perspective. Perception. People.

It's different. Each day, each second, it changes.

Everything.

Always.

Changes.

Something as small as a smile can change the darkness in a heart for the better. Where something as small as a handful of words can kill – quite literally, for the magical few – and turn a pure heart for the shadows. A change of heart is one of the most important changes to ever be made. A change of the mind can affect the near future and the outcome of a series of interconnected events. But a change of heart changes everything. Hearts ache and break and heal and feel every day, which is why everything is doomed to change, always, and forever.

None know what can come of a change of heart, only to acknowledge the power of such an occurrence. One such change of heart, and for the better, can lead to the worst possible consequences. And a change for the worst can pave the way for the best of changes.

But it's really all up to chance. Chance and moral obligations.

* * *

_You know what you love most… Now go kill it… You know what you love most… Now go kill it… You kno-_

"Did Rumplestiltskin tell you what you needed to know?" She couldn't quite comprehend the question at first. So it was a moment or so before she answered. And she daren't look at him as she strode past, agitation and apprehension lending her speed as she stared at the dark tile beneath her feet.

"Yes," She couldn't summon up more than that answer. The rest was on the tip of her tongue – _he wants me to kill… kill YOU…_ - but she couldn't find it within her to speak of it. Not quite yet. She was still trying to absorb the shock of realizing she might… she could… she _would…_

"And?" he prompted, following a few steps behind her. He wasn't quite crowding her, for which she was grateful. She needed to breathe, she needed to think and… _she needed him._ She finally stopped, eyes shifting off to the side, resisting the urge to worry her lip she spoke.

"I'm not sure I should say…" She wasn't. As assured as she was, all the power and confidence she had contained within her body, she hesitated now. Because she loved him. And he loved her. And he would have to die. _But she LOVED him!_ "I'm conflicted." Truth worked, though. She'd used lies many times before, and she knew well and good that she'd use them many times after today, but right now, with the turmoil roiling in her gut, twisting her insides, making her sick; right now she needed a good dose of truth.

"How bad is it? Maybe I can help…" She felt the acute sting of the words, unintentional as it was, and had to swallow back the sorrow that nearly throttled her. She was silent for a few long moments. Moments she savored, the pain she cradled close to her heart, letting it meld together with the darkness already digging its dank claws into the tender flesh. But finally, she found her voice, and spoke softly – still, without facing him, and the genuine shine of adoration in his eyes.

"I have to cut out the heart of the thing I love most."

…

…

…

_Silence._

Utter silence. She let the words sink in to her own brain, let the pain rip through her, let him absorb the words. And it was longer still before he spoke, in the same soft tone she had adopted but moments before – and his, his was softer, painted with such emotion that she felt tears gloss over the surface of her eyes.

"Me." Her eyes slide shut then, of their own accord. Images danced behind her lids – days from years past, when he'd had color to his hair and the shine of youth emanating from his very soul. Days when he'd been the best thing in the world to her. Days when he'd been the worst (those days were tainted by the magic of her mother, and the betrayal of his silence). Her life, and his. Until at last she turned, eyes fluttering open to fix him with such an agonized stare. It did nothing to affect the aged visage staring back at her. _Tired. Not quite fearful. But certain of his own demise._

"Daddy, I don't know what to do," In a moment, there was some light coming back to his eyes, and he shook his head softly.

"My dear," He began, taking steps closer to her. The endearment cut like a sharpened knife through her too-tender heart. "Please. You don't have to do this." _She didn't, did she?_ But… but…

"I have to do something," she spoke in a furious whisper, as she tore her eyes from his, looking over his shoulder as she moved to stalk past him. She couldn't stand the sight of that imploring, beloved face. She was blinking back tears as it was, an-and she needed to be strong now. Now of all times, she _HAD_ to be strong or she might very well…

"Then move past this," He wasn't pleading – which she respected him for – but his tone was no less beseeching. It seemed such a simple thing. To move past it, move past _this._ "I know this may sound self-serving, but you don't need to enact the curse." Didn't she, though?

"But I can't keep living like _this_," She turned to face him once more, her tone matching his. She couldn't tell if she was trying to justify this to herself, or to him. _Either way, it was hardly working well…_ "What Snow did to me, what she _took_ from me…" She paused for a breath, swallowing a sudden lump lodged in her throat and speaking in that soft tone once more. "_It's eating me alive, Daddy._ Her very existence _mocks_ me. She must be punished." _She… she had to… she MUST… _Everything before, it hadn't been enough. Because Snow had survived intact, with her fucking _Prince Farming_ on her arm, smiling like the dopes in love that they were. It wasn't fair that she get away with it. It wasn't _right._

_But what she was considering doing, was it any less wrong?_

"If the price is a hole that will never be filled, why do it?" _Why? WHY?! Why…. _"Stop worrying about Snow White and start over. We can have a new life."

"But what kind of life?" It was hard not to sneer at him, but she managed it as she stepped closer, the tears in her tone as well as shining over her eyes. "All I've worked for, all I've built will be gone! My power will disappear. _They already think I'm nothing!_" And she was far from that, OH, she would show them just what nothing looked like, just what nothing could _DO!_ But he didn't even blink, speaking to her with those soft, expressive eyes so much like her own, in that tone that soothed the savage beast of her furies.

"Power is seductive," Unbidden, memories arose of a time before she harnessed the powers within her, a time of simplicities and joy. A time when… "But so is love. You can have that again." Those words, simple, soft-spoken as they were, struck a chord within her, that resonated throughout the whole of her body, throughout her very soul.

_Love._

_Love? Could she even…?_

Before she knew it, before she really realized what she was doing, she'd taken the last step forward into her father's arms. And it was everything that it always was, the warmth of his body, the warmth of his spirit comforting her, bringing back to life the still flickering light that was all that was left of her 'good' side. It was small, and weak, but oh-so strong when he and she shared moments like this. _She loved. She loved him. Maybe…_

"I just want to be happy," The tears were escaping at last, and she only just held back pitiful sobs.

"You can be. Of this I'm sure," _She could, couldn't she? _But… was it really _so_ easy to just… be happy? She couldn't even really remember what that was like. She knew it was such a beautiful thing, warmer even than the comforts of her only present parent. "I believe if given the chance, we can find happiness… together." _Happiness. Someone that loved her, it couldn't just… it couldn't be that easy… _"But the choice is yours."

Her eyes slid shut once more, the tears trailing sluggishly down her cheeks as she considered it. Considered her choices. _To kill the only thing that openly offered her happiness? Or destroy it in favor of ruining the happiness of the most vile creature to walk the face of the earth? _When she drew back from her father, it was with a small smile curling at her lips.

"I think you're right," And she felt it, the warmth of her choice spreading from her heart outwards. Until it was tingling even in the tips of her fingers and toes. He smiled with her as she continued, "I can be happy…"

* * *

The huntsman walked with heavy steps towards large, ornate doors; behind which resided the bane of his existence and that of many more like him. Regina. The Queen. The one that held his heart hostage. He paused before them, scowling at the dark color of the wood, matching the shaded tones that decorated the whole of this oppressive palace of doom. _He missed the sun. The greens and soft browns of the forest… _But Her Majesty had taken that when she'd stolen his heart and locked it away in the damned magical vault of hers. _For the rest of his life, never would he trust a magic user…_

"Are you going to enter anytime soon?" The oddly echoing voice startled him from his thoughts and he glared at the purple smoke encased head floating behind the cold surface of the mirror directly to his left. The genie wasn't smiling or smirking, he appeared genuinely curious. But the huntsman spoke not to him, ignoring him in favor of turning towards the doors and hesitating for but one more moment before a low, "Well?" prompted him into action. He pushed against the heavy wood, easily thrusting it out of his way as he strode into the parlor where his Queen waited. She had her back to him, staring into the dancing flames of the fire before her.

"You called for me, your Majesty?" he practically spat the words at her, but she'd long grown used to his insolent tones and quick tempers. _Not that it wasn't deserved. _She didn't speak to him at first, contenting herself with watching the whims of the flames and the way the smoke slithered upwards in mesmerizing, ever changing, swirling patterns. He didn't let his frustration show, even as it grew from being ignored – he knew better than that. He was a good pet, he'd learned his lessons and taken his lumps too many times before to mistake her silence as an invitation for him to speak anything further to her. She was thinking. Or attempting to frustrate him. But he was better than that.

"Huntsman," she spoke at last, and though her perked up to hear her speak, she didn't turn to face him, didn't move more than to let her arms – she'd had them crossed over her chest – fall to her sides. "Do you know what that is?" She now moved, but only one arm, pointing towards… He blinked slowly, almost daring to step closer, but resisting to urge as his eyes fell upon the object indicted. It was a box. The box itself was really quite simply. Bronze, a ring on either side of it, and on the front of the box, beneath the lip of the lid there was a protruding circle. A heart, with a dagger sticking through the top of it and all the way through, decorated the center of the circle.

It was a box he knew well. It was a box that held a heart.

"I do." Once more it was silent. And once more he waited. Patience was a virtue he'd come to hold dear. One needed to be patient in order to deal with a maniac like the Evil Queen. And once again, after a long while had passed she spoke. Well, sort-of. It was a soft sigh that brought his attention back to her this time, and the rustle of fabric as she finally moved from her spot before the hearth. She stepped over to the small table, upon which the box sat, and bent to pick it up. She held it almost reverently, stroking the top for a moment before she flipped the lid and reached inside.

The steady _th-thump _of the heart beating reached his ears moments before she moved and he saw the pulsating, red flesh in her hands. The look on her face was… neutral. _What was this? Some sort of strange test?_

"And do you know who this belongs to?" He snorted when she asked the question, missing the soft tone she'd spoken in as she slowly began to move closer to him. The room was large, and he'd taken no more than a few steps inside, fully expecting her to be her usual self and spare him a few words, an order or a taunt, and send him on his _merry_ way.

"You," She smiled then, even chuckled, and for a moment it struck him dumb… Because for a moment… for just a moment, he could swear that it seemed genuine. She shook her head then, her strides lengthening, quickening, until she stood before him, looking to the heart with such a softness that some part of him, that calloused, hardened part of him, softened just a bit in return.

"No," She looked up at last, meeting his eyes, still smiling. It was small, almost unnoticeable, but it was _real._ He was… confused. Totally confused. _What WAS this?_ "It belongs to you." And before he could open his mouth to speak, question her health or perhaps her sanity – was she being… _pleasant_ right now!? – she struck. He had always marveled at the way she moved, with the grace and deadly intent of a predator; she stole hearts, but she made it into an art form. She moved with the speed and precision of a striking snake. He'd felt it before, and it was a painful thing indeed. Even more so now. He gaped down at the part of her arm he could still see, her hand and half her forearm disappearing into the cavity of his chest. But before he could cry out in pain, in shock, she'd removed her hand.

Her very much empty hand.

He gasped then, falling to his knees, body shivering and shaking as his heart was returned, as his life and emotions rushed through him like a tidal wave. He felt, so severely, the pain of being trapped in such a place as this castle, with this woman. He felt the pain of leaving his family, the joy of his heart in his own chest once more. He felt it, beating. Strong and steady. Warmth flowed through his body, and where he'd felt not even the chill of heartlessness, now he knew it, and rejoiced to feel whole at last. Eyes wide, mouth hanging slack, his head whipped up and he caught the eyes of the woman before him. He couldn't decipher the emotions held within, but she presented him with a smile nonetheless. And then she turned her back on him and strode away.

"I want you to leave." He blinked slowly, the rush of emotion disorienting him for a few seconds, before the words caught up and he stood up unsteadily, on shaky limbs.

"W-what?"

"Leave, dear. As in, to move from the boundaries of this castle. You are free, Huntsman," She was back before the fire, hands clasped behind her back, tone devoid of emotion.

"I… _w-what!?_"

"I no longer require your services, so leave," She turned to send him a glare that lacked the usual malice. He still didn't move. Frozen to the spot, still staring, looking much like a fish out of water. She rolled her eyes, turning fully to face him and settling a decidedly irritated look upon him. "Have you gone deaf? I want you _OUT_ of my castle…" She paused to lick her lips, smiling that snide, cruel smile of hers. "Or would you prefer I kept you my pet forever?"

"I-I don't understand," he finally managed to stutter out, stepping closer. "How- w-why just… What _IS _this!? Where's the catch, for what purpose-" His next words cut off sharply with the loss of his ability to breathe. What felt to be an invisible hand had wrapped around his neck, choking him affectively and lifting him from the floor.

"You haven't the right to question me or my motives, _Huntsman_. Know only that I tire of you, and you are therefore free to go," He coughed as she waved him off, releasing the hold on his neck at the same time and turning her back for the final time. "Now unless I need to encourage you further-" The fire before her began to draw itself out of the hearth, curling around her body, before it went back to its previous place, eating up the logs. "I suggest you leave." The words, and the not so subtle threat, finally broke through his shock and he nodded to himself quickly, shaking off his stupor and turning on his heel. He started for the door, almost slipping into a run but controlling his desperate need for freedom granted with a fast-paced walk. The doors – and he'd left them wide open with his dramatic entrance – slammed shut just before he reached them.

_Rage._

He'd forgotten the feel of rage. But he knew it as he turned back and sneered at the woman facing him with a small smile adorning her face.

"You _bitch!_" he snarled, but she merely smiled wider and nodded.

"I _do _have one final favor to ask of you, dear…"

"I don't owe you _SHIT!_" She smiled snidely, once more moving closer to him.

"Don't you, though? I spared your life, I actually returned it to you, and I'm setting you free. I'd say delivering a letter is the least you can do before I forget you ever graced my court." With a wave of her hand, a neatly folded piece of paper appeared before him, floating in front of his face. And just like that, the anger washed out of him, replaced, once more, with confusion.

"Wait… that's it?" She snorted, rolling her eyes.

"Please; you can't kill a simple teenager lost in the woods, anything greater than that you'd surely fail to carry out. This seems more your speed. Or… I can always force you to… Your choice… but not really." Her smile was sugary and patronizing, but he hesitantly nodded his approval. "Wonderful."

"So, who's this-"

"You can read, dear; can't you?" That smile stretched wider and he glared, snatching the paper out of the air and turning it over. In the elegant script he'd come to recognize as the Queen's, he read the name _Snow White._

* * *

**I shouldn't write ANOTHER new story. I know, I'm a naughty pup. I'd ask for forgiveness but… I mean, that's for people who want it. ^^ SOOO, here's the deal – this idea has been trying to rape my mind for the past odd number of months. It's been succeeding, I feel thoroughly violated by the plot bunnies. I wanna tell y'all SOOOOO BADLY what I plan. **

**But, alas, I cannot. Fear not! I'm sure - with my new laptop, also known as MY BAAAAAAAYBEH - that i'll knock out a lot more chapters from now on. I'm working on Antisocial Tendencies and Half the Battle as we speak... but the plot bunnies aren't sexin' it up about them too much these days. BUT SOON, I swear**


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter brought to you by Maynard James Keenan, 10,000 Days. **

* * *

_Oh…_

_Oh dear…_

_Oh dearie, dearie, dear…_

_Well…_

That was interesting…

That was very… very… _interesting…_

"But _whaaat_ is it?" A grimy smile flashed. Fingers tapped restlessly against rusted metal. Feet paced. Thoughts raced. But the smile stayed. The smile always stayed. _Something of a trademark at this point…_ "My, _myyy_, but what could it _mean?_" A cackle, echoing over the soft, ever consistent _drip-drop_ of something _somewhere_ in the back recesses of the dank underground cell.

The smile twitches.

Drops.

_Well…_

That…

That wasn't good…

That wasn't very good _at all…_

"_What… what is she DOING_?" A low hiss of anger, a snarl twisting at the lips. Pacing feet double pace. Grimy teeth grit. "WHAT THE HELL IS SHE DOING!?"

* * *

"Council…" _Oh, what was the use?_ Not like they'd listen to her now. Despite she was the Queen. Despite the friendship they all shared. They simply wouldn't hear her, too busy yelling at one another.

The Royal Council of the White Kingdom had gathered. Heading it – one furious Prince Charming, and one obviously weary – and _heavily _pregnant – Snow White. Dark, bruise-like circles colored the space beneath her eyes, she walked around as if in a daze most of the time. And when she wasn't, she was hardly her cheery self. Countless nights had been spent wondering what would become of her, her child… her kingdom… The Evil Queen was planning something, and Snow White was beyond worried. She was positively distraught.

"Council!" she tried again, after clearing the cracking quality from her voice, lifting her head to focus a still bright gaze upon anyone that would meet her eye. Acknowledge that the Queen was speaking, and therefore they should fall silent. _Listen._

But no one noticed, no one saw. They only yelled, ranted, raved. _The Evil Queen's head!_ They screamed for, or, _Tear her limb from limb!_ Something gruesome, something violent. And years of living by herself, hunting, even killing for her own safety and well-being – all of that couldn't prepare a queasy stomach from the mental images. _Regina's eyes, lifeless. Blood splatters on her lips. The head stuck through on a pike. _

"COUNCIL!" And finally, _finally_, silence. _Sweet, golden, magical silence. _Not even the power of True Love could compare to the moment of pure bliss that overcame her as that silence stretched. Her frayed nerves settled, along with the churning in her stomach. "Dismissed. All of you."

And suddenly that sweet, golden bliss crumbled as voices erupted in a raucous clamor far greater than any torture Snow had ever gone through. Charming tried, he did try ever so hard, to calm them all, to soothe them back into silence. But it was for naught. _He had never been the talker, more the fighter…_ Talking was more Snow's thing, but she was too exhausted to deal with the politics of it all.

"**SILENCE!**" Fairly exhausted himself – he was at his wits end trying to keep Snow from snapping – he found simply that physical violence (i.e. pounding on the table with the flat of his hand) worked best towards his favor. "Council, you are dismissed. We will reconvene tomorrow to discuss what's to be done about this… _problem…_" He ignored the grumbles (what few there were) in favor of turning to his wife, concern shining in those big blues of his. She hardly spared him a glance, staring down at the table top, too caught up in her own contemplations and worries to notice what was going on around her. But the silence, golden and sweeter than any honey crisp she'd ever snagged from Regina's tree in her youth, brought her attention up in a glance around the table. She felt a slow smile stretching at blood red lips, and turned it onto the handsome man at her side.

"Thank you," she murmured, dipping her head slightly. He nodded once, but said nothing in return for a long time. Soon enough, her small smile dropped and she sighed, shaking her head and pushing herself up from her seat. "I don't want to talk about it…"

"Shouldn't you, though?" He followed resolutely after her, concern dripping from his voice. _Why was he always SUCH a worrier!?_ She was fine, she'd taken care of herself for quite a long time, before he _ever _entered the picture. She shook her head, glaring darkly ahead of her, blind and deaf to the guards standing at the ready, offering greetings to her.

"What else have I to say that has not been said?" Snow asked as they entered the privacy of the royal bedchambers. She moved to the bed, sitting heavily upon it, one hand drifting thoughtlessly to cradle and caress her swollen belly. "You tell me, and I'll speak. Until such a point, I find I'm simply tired of it all. I'm tired of speaking of it, hearing about it in _every. Single. Council. Meeting._ I'm tired of thinking about it. I'm-I'm… I'm so _tired!_" The final, almost shout was followed shortly by a sob; and then tears were streaming down her cheeks and there was not a damned thing she could do to stop them.

She could picture, too easily, lying in a pool of her own blood while Regina stood over her, holding the shrieking baby – _HER _baby – in her arms, sneering down at her. Charming would be dead in the corner, body half-burnt away to the bone. Blisters on his skin popped and bled into the pool that was spreading across the room. And Regina was so happy, wearing this adoring smile as she looked to the child. And then she was gone, taking the baby with her, while Snow and Charming died. She could picture it, her nightmares played it out in her head every night; and she… she just… she couldn't _un_-see it. Every time she closed her eyes, it was _there! _And the images stabbed at her brain, seemed to take on a mind of their own, reveling in some sick glee at her torment.

It was unbearable, and she didn't know if she could go much longer trying to deal with it on her own. Hell, maybe Charming was right, maybe she _did_ need to talk about it, but… talking about it, that made it more real. That made it a tangible problem – even more than it already _was _– and she was still, honestly, holding hope that maybe if she ignored it (or did her damnedest attempt to), then maybe it would just stop. Maybe if she hoped and believed hard enough, it would just cease to exist. But things weren't that simple, nothing was _ever_ that simple with her…

So instead of speaking about it, she cried. She'd no shame in it, and it _was_ a relief to let it out, to finally and fully just let herself feel the pain, the fear, the anguish of knowing what would happen, and knowing she was entirely powerless to stop it. Never mind all that Rumplestiltskin had promised, she'd still be giving up her child to some unknown fate. She'd still lose to the Evil Queen. And there was indeed a possibility that she and Charming would still end up dead before the next moon due to it all. Crying was all that was left to her, crying was all that was keeping her screaming, from raging.

Any further emotional outbursts were halted, however, by the sharp rap of knuckles against the wood of the door. With a sigh, and a sniffle, Snow pulled away from her husband's arms – quite unaware of when he'd even moved over to her side to comfort her – and turned her back, hoping to wipe away evidence of her breakdown. Charming called out for the visitor to enter. It was a guard, with news of a man requesting an audience with the monarchs. Charming, sensing Snow's continued need to be alone rather than deal with the stress of keeping face while entertaining a subject concerned about… something or other… _It seemed no matter how loved they were, no matter what they did, someone always had a complaint…_ So, after dropping a kiss on his wife's head, he moved from her and towards the door, allowing for the guard to leave before he left himself, shutting the door gently behind him.

He strode with purpose towards the throne room, ire lending him speed as he passed by the guards posted throughout these halls. Unlike his weary wife, he managed a forced smile and jerky nod at them as he passed, but the smile dropped as soon as he came to the throne room, taking a deep, calming breath before throwing the doors open. He strode over to the thrones, claimed his own, and turned towards the opposite end of the grand hall to nod at the guard nearest the door, signaling the man should allow entrance to the hall.

"PRESENTING, Graham the Huntsman!"

* * *

He was nervous. Of course he would be. He'd been set free, with only the simple task, the simple request that he deliver a letter to the woman he'd almost ended up killing. _Snow White._ The name brought up the strangest mix of emotions – for a long time he could only look back and wonder how much better (or worse) his life might have been if he'd just cut out her heart – and it was something of a novel idea… emotions… He _had_ them now! It was so wonderfully odd… but Snow White; Snow White made him feel much.

Regret.

Bitter hatred.

Respect.

And he had expected, because he'd been specific that he wished to speak to _Snow White_ instead of the dear man she claimed as her companion, he had expected to have an audience with her. But he was wrong. And he was almost disappointed – no, he _WAS _disappointed (_how strange, to feel it!_) – by it, but mostly, mostly he was annoyed. None of this showed on his face, however. Years without emotions had trained him to remain stoic. And that was something he wore well, something he wore easily.

So he met the stony-faced king with his own granite expression. Complemented with ice cold eyes and nary a sniff of dismay. He moved slowly towards the king, and stopped some feet from the foot of the stairs that would take him to the throne. He looked impassively up at the king, not bothering to bow, exchange pleasantries. With a quirk of his brows, he finally allowed himself some expression, glancing around the room obviously and then letting his eyes land back on the king.

"I had requested to speak with Snow White…" he murmured lowly. The king's gaze hardened further, in some impossible way, and now he was openly glaring at the man standing before him.

"And you are speaking with me; now, speak your piece," Charming bit out, head jerking up so he was looking down his nose. It wasn't something he often did – it wasn't something he _ever_ did – but the man's total disregard for royalty chaffed him. "Or I shall have you… _escorted_ from my castle."

"I need to speak with Snow White," the Huntsman said evenly.

"_AND YOU ARE SPEAKING WITH ME_," It was something of a growl he spoke with, but the Huntsman was unimpressed.

"Yes, well the Evil Queen did not write a letter to _you_," he said in that same tone. Now, now the king rose from his throne, eyes screaming his fury for him as he stormed towards the insolent man. But before he could raise a hand against him, before he could take a breath to roar his rage and suspicions, the man had moved. Faster than he could blink, the man had slipped under his guard and was but a breath from his face, expression grim, the dagger in his hand pressed snuggly against the king's throat. He felt the sharpest point of the dagger slice into his jugular, blood beading up and slowly dribbling down to darken the collar of his pristine white tunic.

"I need to speak with _Snow_."

* * *

"You… you _cannot _be serious." Charming was staring at her with such a strange expression, but she didn't comment on it, only sighed and shook her head, mouth twisting into an _incredibly_ serious frown.

"Trust me, I would never dare to joke of this," Snow murmured lowly. She rubbed a hand over her face, trying to scrub away the stress, the weariness that clung to her very soul. It didn't work, and it didn't change the words on the paper sitting upon the bed she paced before. Charming stood immobile, frozen to the spot, but for the steady rise and fall of his chest and the way his eyes were stuck to his wife's constantly moving form. "_Peace_, from Regina… That… that isn't a joke. And if it was, it's hardly funny!"

"But… can _she_ be serious?"

"Of _course_ not!" Her eyes blazed with the closest thing to hatred he'd ever seen mar her pretty, serene face. It was… strange. Unpleasant. "It's just another trick, and I _won't _fall for it…"

"What should we do?" Another sigh was his answer, a low grumble, and a halt in her pacing. _Which was good_; he was beginning to feel antsy himself just watching her move and shift and fidget. Suddenly, an expression lit up her face, such an expression he'd never seen overtake her features; something about it was inherently _bad_. It was a smirk he would have expected from the Evil Queen, perhaps even the Dark One, but not one that Snow White should have sported. It was something of a smirk, almost a sick grin, mixed with a snarl and a sneer.

"Let her think she's tricked us," Snow spoke lowly, the expression twisting further. "Let her come before us and present peace."

"What shall we do to her?"

"Entrap her, of course. She's _hardly_ as clever as Rumplestiltskin, and she deserves a life in the dungeons _all_ the more for her misdeeds…" That expression nauseates him, and it doesn't leave her face, not for the whole while she speaks. It creeps further across her features, settles into the bone structure of her face. And he realizes, quite suddenly, that he's _never_ seen that look. Not on his faux father when he grinned that murderous smile while handing him over to marry Abigail; not when he'd faced Rumplestiltskin for the very first time; not even when he'd been a prisoner to the Evil Queen herself.

"Snow… perhaps she truly _is_ seeking peace…?"

"Preposterous! That, that, that vile _witch_ will NEVER crave for peace! She tried to kill me because I was _prettier than her_, for god's sake!" she practically spat the words out, and finally that expression, that terrifying expression fell away, softened. "Charming… she could take our daughter from us… our people, our happiness! She's spoken time and again of how she wants us to suffer… I cannot bear to give her another chance, I won't. I refuse to believe this is her trying to turn over a new leaf, I _know_ better." Now she implored him, those huge green eyes of hers shining with sincerity.

Still, he found himself hesitating to agree. He couldn't simply forget the _evil_ he'd seen in the expression she'd worn not two minutes prior. _She WAS, however, right. _Regina couldn't be trusted, and she _did_ deserve to rot in the dankest cell in their dungeon. So, eventually, he nodded his assent and offered up a weak smile. She grinned in return, laughing delightedly and moving towards him, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him upon the lips. All thoughts of any darkness he'd seen clouding her eyes were all too fleeting under the assault of her mouth, and he returned the affections earnestly.

And somewhere, miles below their feet, a grimy smile flashed. A mad cackling filled the dark cell of the Dark One. Pacing picked up, muttering grew louder. And that smile stretched; twisted and sick, it curled at his lips.

"Well now…" Lids dropped delicately over all-seeing eyes, moving rapidly beneath the skin, seeing what only he could ever see. "That's new…"

* * *

**I've recently taken to getting my roommate involved in Once. Good news: she loves Emma. Bad news: she HATES Regina. And I try to defend her and all her good, try to point out that Gold twisted her, turned her, that she was used and abused her whole life. But there is NO sympathy for her. And while we can agree that she's a bitch, my usual follow-up statement is "I LOVE IT" while hers is "GOD, I fckin HATE her" Boooooocifer.**

**OKAY, so this needs to be said, I think. Regina's change of heart has been for the better. But I left a warning that a change for better can lead to the WORST consequences. I'm going to explore the impossible, and put out something that's new and shit…. Meaning fuuud up shit to come, y'all. Prepare, salivate for it.**

**So review if you'd like, but the interesting stuff doesn't really begin until next chapter, to be honest. These first two chapters set it all up. I recently found a story that I felt threatened by – I thought it was stealing my idea. The good news is that it wasn't. ALRIGHTY, so forgive mistakes if any you should find – I tried to be really careful – and also, Graham gets off scot free cuz he's a fuckin' badass. THANKS AND HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY!**


	3. Chapter 3

**I wrote this chapter to many songs – including tunes by Mindless Self Indulgence, and one all-girl, Japanese metal band (Doll$Boxx "Take My Chance"); and seriously, how can so much badass be contained behind such cute faces? I have to take off my new glasses every time I listen to that song JUST so I can properly enjoy it by head-banging until my neck is sore. And it is very sore… BUT, the song I finished this to was a Tegan and Sara tune. **

* * *

She didn't like it here. Not one bit. It was dark, dank, _dirty._ And none of that was what really bothered her about the place. She preferred the darkness, firstly; it was odd, considering who and what she was – Princess Emma, heir to the White throne and all the glory _that_ entailed. It should be in her nature (for it was entirely present within her very _name_) to prefer the light and all that 'lightness' should provide. But it was not the light of day that she found comfort in; it was not the brightest of colors that drew her eye; it was not _white_ that summed up the whole of her existence. She was very much a creature of the night; she preferred deeper, darker shades; and if she were to _really_ label herself anything, it would most definitely be _black._ For darkness hides deception, and _that_ was the whole of her existence.

The fact it was so musty and dank down here wasn't what got to her, either. She didn't really mind that all too much – at the same time, it was hardly something she admired about the place. And she hardly came down her expecting the place to be cleaner than Snow White's reputation. It was a _dungeon_, after all; it would hardly do to fit the dungeon image if the place shone pale and perfect and sterile-white like her mother's name. The smell of mold and something she could only describe as _rat_ should be very much a part of any dungeon – and that didn't bother her in the least. No, what bothered her so greatly about this place was the trouble she had to go through in order to get down here at least semi-regularly. And by 'trouble,' she did mean _person._

_But that wasn't quite right; he was more of a _creature_ than a person._

And she hardly liked him. She, in fact, liked him about as much as any young monarch could like the tutor that kept their time with facts and figures when they could, instead, _not_ be cooped up with a pretentious prick that knew entirely too much about everything and nothing. Which was, unsurprisingly, not very much at all. But, alas, this tutor could not be so easily ignored or replaced. She _needed_ him in order to gain anything in this drab affair she called life. And – _Oh_, how she did hate this detail! – he was the only one that could _truly_ help her. Because he was the only magic user present in the whole of the kingdom that was not some whimsical, fluttering fool. And he was the only one that was willing to teach her about the darker parts of life, and of magic. The parts that made her soul sing with joy and desire.

He was also the only one that she could truly relax herself around. For she was Emma, sweet, delicate Princess Emma. She was the joy of the kingdom, the apple of her parents' respective eyes. She was known to be soft spoken and sweeter than the sweetest of pies. She was inquisitive and intelligent. She could absolutely bend the harshest, meanest soul to her will with little more than a smile. And, oh, was she known for her smiles. They were perfectly serene and pleasing to the eye, they lit up a room and could steal the breath of any so lucky as to gaze upon one. They held a patience and a kindness not unlike Snow White's. And not a one of them was true. For she _was_ intelligent, and she _was_ black to the depths of her soul – and she knew better than to let on to the world just how truly twisted she was on the inside.

But her tutor, _THE _Tutor – he knew. When first she'd ever happened across his cage, greeting him with her utterly false, sweetly serene smile, he'd laughed. _Well,_ perhaps that was too light a term for it; he'd _cackled_ at her, instantly seeing through her sham of a smile and calling her out on it. She hadn't let that affect her perfected expression, had played dumb to the truth which he spoke. And he'd only tossed his head back to let a second round of near-insane, shrieking bout of laughter to ring about the cavern he unfortunately called home. But still, she'd kept up her façade. And he kept up his try for insanity – she knew it for what it was, an attempt to unsettle her and reveal a weakness to his startlingly sharp eyes. _And then he'd mentioned magic…._

It had been impossible to hide the interest that sparked in her veins at the word. Magic was very much present about her and her life, and despite it being something quite common, it was something her parents warned her of. While speaking highly of the powerful magic – the _most powerful_ magic – that was True Love, they cautioned her on the rest of the subject. They told stories of the evil magic was capable of, the evil people that were capable of magic. They warned her off of ever using magic to solve her problems, because (and this was a point that had been stressed quite thoroughly) _ALL_ magic came with a price. Even magic used for the forces of good came with a price. But that was not a subject that had ever interested her in the stories they told – no, what drew her sharp mind were the instances in which they spoke of _dark_ magic.

And when the creature in the dungeon had mentioned magic, she could practically _feel_ the icy-cold touch of darkness the decorated the word. But then, darkness painted his every word. Still, she hadn't been prepared for him to speak of magic in such a tone; so she hadn't been able to stop the way her lips had moved without her permission. She hadn't been prepared for the surge of… of… _gods above_, she hadn't been prepared for the surge of lightening that had coursed through her body, layering her voice with power when she spoke without will:

"_Tell me of magic."_

He hadn't been prepared either, responding with silence. Silence that melted into sinister chuckles as he'd approached the bars of his cage and pressed his twisted features against the rusted metal. It was that day she'd gazed into the depths of hell – hell contained within the eyes of a monstrous beast of a man – and found herself partial to the flames of black fire that singed her soul. It was that day she discovered her magic, and how very… _dark_ it was inclined to be. That day had been a little over two years ago, and since then she'd taken to sneaking down to the dungeons at night to sit before the man that was her inspiration and listen to his lessons upon the mechanics of magic. And while she'd proven quite adept at using magic – and quite _powerful_ – she also found herself swallowing distaste every time she faced him. He was a cunning coward, and she'd little patience for cowards.

And despite he was her teacher, despite she respected him, she still despised him for his cowardice. But she suffered through it with that same smile she always wore – even knowing he could clearly see how transparent it was – because she needed him… for now.

"Well… hello there, dearie," His voice was as a snake; it slithered over the surface of her skin, reptilian chill raising goose pimples in its wake. In it, she could hear the echoes of power that once was – and she hated to admit that it was greater than her own. She did comfort herself, however, with the promise that she would only grow stronger with age; and she was not _so_ far behind him now.

"Hello, Rumple," She didn't need to see him to know he was smiling. She could sense it, could feel the slime of it settling over her. She hated him – but she could respect the power he had over people, even _without_ the use of his magic. She narrowed her eyes as she slowly lowered herself to the cold, dirty floor, focusing her almost-glare on the man hiding in the darkest recesses of his cell. The flickering torches on either side of the outside walls hardly helped to penetrate the inky blackness she and he so adored, but she knew where he stood. She could feel him, and the glee that emanated from him.

"Quite the uproar earlier this eve," he giggled, and she didn't see him step forward so much as she heard the slide-and-scrape of his boots on the floor. "What have you been up to, I wonder…?" He stepped forward once more, into the light – not that she needed it to know the look on his face to be a very telling smirk. She found herself returning the smirk, matching his giggle for one of her own, though hers was decidedly girlish and just a bit more innocent than his had been.

"You know…" She shrugged, grin splitting her face; the flash of sharp, cold eyes belied the sweet nature of the expression – and really, it was a wonder none ever saw through her when her eyes were always so cool. "Murdering the maid staff." They shared a short laugh before Rumplestiltskin stepped fully forward, face pressing into the bars of his cage, eyes wide with excitement.

"Did you take her heart?!" It was little more than a demand, but she humored him despite the tone, shaking her head. She still wore that grin, though it twisted when she thought back to the body she'd 'stumbled' upon in her bed chambers.

"You haven't taught me that trick yet," She spoke lightly, but gave him a significant look accompanied by an arched brow. "I slit her throat. Made a beautiful mess." She shrugged once more, grin creeping back over her features when he sighed. "I've convinced them I should be trained."

"Trained?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "I'd dare say_ not._ I could teach you better with the sword than either of those imbeciles you call parents."

"Ah, but therein lies the problem!" Her grin grew. "You see, I find you to be of more use in your cage than outside of it. And _surely_ without a sword in hand!" She laughed then; and it was such a sweet, merry sound. But the condescension in it infuriated him. His eyes narrowed into dangerous, angry slits, breath hissing about between tight lips.

"You would do well to remember your place,_ apprentice,_" Once more she laughed, standing slowly to step closer to his cage, her eyes dancing with mirth.

"As you would do well to remember yours, _prisoner_. Tis not I that needs _you_, but you that needs _me_," Which wasn't _totally _true – she _did_ require his knowledge of the dark arts in order to further her own objectives – but it was principle of the thing; he challenging her, when she _clearly_ held sway over him. She may only be eight, but _she_ had the power here. She leaned closer with a snide sneer, eyes sparking with delight to contrast the hatred burning in his own eyes. "_I'm the one with the keys…_" And without another word, she turned and began to skip out of the dungeon.

"I believe I'll cut this lesson short," she called over her shoulder, tossing back a smile. "I've got my self-defense lessons, after all."

* * *

"I just don't _understand…_" Snow White paced, biting her lips, her nails; her brows were furrowed and she was muttering to herself. _Worried. Distressed. Totally FUCKING freaked out._ "How could someone have…" Charming watched on with Red by his side, both wearing expressions matching Snow's own. And for very good reason. Emma had been threatened. Her handmaiden's throat had been slit and the young princess' name was painted in blood on the walls of her bedroom. One month ago, on the eve of Emma's eighth birth-year, the princess had requested she be trained in the art of combat. Snow, feeling that indomitable surge of motherly protectiveness, outright refused the request. Her baby, training with big, sweaty men; handling swords and knives, learning to kill?

_No_, it was just unheard of. Or at least, it was to her. So of _course_ she'd no choice but to refuse it; she wanted to protect the purity of her sweet child's innocence for as long as she was able before she was _forced_ to be shown the harshness of reality. She hadn't realized her hand would be forced so soon, however. Because, despite the guards protecting their young charge's quarters, despite that none could look upon that sweet face with malice or any sort of ill will – someone had snuck onto castle grounds and left a threat that could _not_ be ignored. And _no one_ knew how it had happened, or who could have done such a… a _vile_ thing!

Red had been called in, for use of her nose – but all she could do was shrug and tell Snow that there was only the stench of blood, and of Emma. _But it was Emma's room, painted in the blood of her handmaiden, so that had hardly been any help whatsoever. _And this time, when Emma had clutched at Snow's skirt, burying her face into the bodice and sobbing fearfully, this time Snow couldn't refuse the request. Because now, now she had reason – damn _good_ reason – for her daughter to be caught up in such brutish affairs. And, she supposed, she'd been caught up in those very same affairs throughout her youth; though hers had been during her teenage years. _Better safe than sorry, though; lest the next time she hear a blood-curdling scream, it be for the body of her own daughter… _

"How could someone _do_ this?!" It came out as a sob, and before Snow had the chance to collapse to the ground in a heap, both her husband and her best friend were by her sides, murmuring comforting words and assuring her that all would be well. Assuring her that this would not, _could not_ happen again. Words they would regret – words that would prove to be as false as the princess they all held so near and dear to their hearts. But, not for a time yet, a time wherein they would have forget those empty promises whispered to an unstable queen.

Emma, standing in the doorway behind them, quiet naturally but masking her aura using the magic she had at her disposal – she heard the murmurs, and she smiled to hear them. Already planning her next attack. She would wait, just for a bit; until the dust settled and they'd nearly forgotten about the 'threat' to her existence. She would wait until they had trained her up a bit, for a time when she was much less sloppy. After all, if it weren't for her magnificent acting skills, she might have very well gotten caught. But she'd made sure to take steps to assure her innocence would remain intact throughout the investigation – when first she'd entered the room, she '_curiously_' picked up a knife at her feet with some strange dark stain on it, and when she'd stepped around the door that just _wouldn't_ budge, she'd screamed and moved over to the clearly dead handmaiden to check for a pulse. Childish innocence inspired her, of course. And curiosity. Only _her_ scent in the room, on the maid?

Well, that was hardly shocking, considering it was HER room and HER handmaiden. So the mysterious character left no trace, and her bloodied footprints marked the area as according to the frenzied steps she'd taken towards – and away from – the corpse of the pretty, young brunette. Well… who knew what really happened? None but the dead, and the dead could not speak. For which she was grateful, and at the same time, sad. She would have so loved to hear the handmaiden scream. She'd not had the chance, as Emma had motioned her to lean down so she might tell the girl a 'secret'. It was that she'd always hated her; as she'd spoken she'd dug the knife into the soft, pale flesh of the young woman's neck and drug it across the column of her throat.

The warm spray of liquid life had felt delightful as it had splattered over her cheeks. But trying to bath away the evidence _had_ been a pain. As well as scrubbing up her bloodied steps towards the large bathing room connected to her own chambers. But it had been worth it. And as she let out a pitiful sob – a sob she faked with perfection – and called for her mother, caught sight of the puffy-eyed, teary gaze that met her eyes, she reaffirmed that. Something about seeing mother in tears, seeing that perfection marred by such ugly expressions was entirely pleasing to her.

_Perhaps she'd been spending too much time with Rumple…?_

Well, she'd be quite busy soon, learning how to handle herself in combat. Besides, he needed a little time by himself to fume and realize where he stood in the pecking order of things. _Beneath her._

Just like the rest of them.

* * *

**So remember what I said about a change of heart leading towards the worst possible outcomes…? Yeah, Emma's fucking evil as shit. Tis pleasing to me ^^ I love it, cuz she's only gonna get worse! **

**OH, I didn't edit this by the way. I kinda wrote it in like… one day. Because when the inspiration hits, I can't just do anything BUT write and…. Well, I really wanted to put it out! I swear to glog I will go back through laters and edit the mothah' outta this. Soooo, eventually I'll explain why Emma is so fucked up and twisted, but until then, review if you'd like, or fucking don't, because I'm already in love with this idea so screw all o' y'all that question meh authoriteh!**

**Nah, just kidding, I LOVE YOU ALL! Even the haters deserve love, so I even love you haters out there ;3**


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